


The Best Thing

by thatonewritergirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everyone's a Human AU, M/M, homeless!Stiles AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonewritergirl/pseuds/thatonewritergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles goes to bed with strangers just to have a place to sleep. One night he goes home with Derek and finds a permanent place to rest his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Thing

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the work is a song by Relient K. Check it out. It's pretty good. Also, the work itself is inspired by [this](http://teenwolftoday.tumblr.com/post/68744293712/homeless-stiles-au-stiles-goes-to-bed-with) gifset.

It was Friday. The only reason Stiles knew that was because of the date and time that came up on the electronic sign outside the bank. Friday. The soup kitchen was closed for the weekend, and Stiles knew he would have to scrounge around in dumpsters to find his next few meals. He had his favorite spots down to a science. Fridays, Snappy’s had their pizza buffets, and at the end of the evening, they threw out about ten pizzas, most of which were half eaten. Still, a half eaten pizza was better than nothing. Saturdays, Majestic had a seafood buffet. As much fried shrimp as a person could possibly eat. And on Sundays, well...Sundays he normally didn’t eat a whole lot. 

Friday nights were also the best nights for business. He’d moved from the tiny town of Beacon Hills to San Francisco, and unsurprisingly, he’d found several new clients, willing to take him to bed for a night. Or, on Fridays, occasionally a weekend. 

Mostly, Stiles serviced businessmen, in town for posh conferences or cushy meetings. Stiles hated them, even as he sucked them against an alley wall in return for twenty bucks. He was, as he had been told, the cheapest whore in the city. But it brought the money in. Fridays, though, Fridays were his favorite nights. Weekends meant the club scene would be hopping, and he had just enough money to pay the cover charge for one. He had to choose carefully. Some of them, none that he would name, always ended up with dead ends. But Stiles knew exactly where he was going. The EndUp. 

Fag Fridays brought an assortment of men to the club, and Stiles knew that he could have his pick. No longer was he limited to sucking businessmen in bathrooms and alleyways. He could have anyone he wanted. Businessmen, actors, hell, carpenters for all he cared. As long as he could have a warm bed for at least the night. Tomorrow he could find someone new. 

He walked down the street, reaching into his hoodie to pull out the last twenty dollars he had. It was a crumpled bill, and he had been incredibly protective of it. Now, it would be gone. As the sun set, Stiles made his way to The EndUp, his body buzzing with excitement. There was a certain excitement that came with the chase. he would find his target, approach them, flirt, and then proposition them. Eight out of ten times, they said yes. Stiles figured that was a pretty good record. Not as bad as it could have been. 

Several times, he’d been asked by his friends why he spent his money to get into a club. The answer was simple. The twenty dollars that he paid to get into The EndUp, as well as the thirty minute wait, were all part of his plan. Go in, dance, flirt, suck or jerk off, and get twenty back. The place was open until after two, so it was easy to take on at least five different guys over the course of the night. All he had to do was use what he had, and he could eat for a week, if not two. Maybe this time, he could even buy a nicer sleeping bag, instead of the blankets he was currently using. 

The line inside was already long, though it was only eleven o’clock. At this rate, Stiles would be able to service more than five. Maybe even six or seven. He did the math. One every hour, and if he stayed until six in the morning, he’d end up with seven. Seven men, whom he would suck or jerk off. Fucking was off limits without lube, and Stiles detested public sex. Even a whore could have standards. Taking his place, Stiles stared up and down the row of people, trying to find those he would particularly enjoy servicing. There was a skinny ginger, the epitome of the word ‘twink’ who looked like he could be plenty of fun and a man who had the build of a dancer, with dark hair and a wisp of a goatee. That would scratch something delightfully. There were a few others. A sandy blond who might have actually been an actor, a buff black man whom Stiles could imagine sucking. That could be fun. 

Finally, after waiting and waiting, it was Stiles’s turn to pay. He handed over his last twenty and had the inside of his wrist stamped. The hoodie would have to go. Underneath it, he wore a tight blue tee, not out of concern for his appearance, but because it was one of the two that he had, and it was the cleaner of the two. Stepping into the throng of dancers, Stiles allowed himself to become immersed in the music and movement. He wouldn’t have enough money to drink, but that was okay. At the very least, he would have money for food. Besides, Stiles knew the dangers of drinking at a club, especially when he was trying to solicit sex. It would be far too easy for someone to drug him.

Seeking out the Idris Elba lookalike from the line, Stiles spotted him easily. He was standing on the sidelines, sipping at a cocktail. Perfect. Striding over, Stiles plastered on a seductive smile, one eyebrow cocked to hint at the promise of pleasure. As he approached the man, he crowded his space, leaning in close to speak in his ear. 

“Hey there. You come here alone?” 

The man simply smiled and slid his hand to Stiles’s waist. “Sure did. You look like you could use a dance.” 

Stiles nodded and pulled away, taking the man’s hand to lead him onto the dance floor. There was something incredibly liberating about dancing with a stranger and expecting nothing. Well...almost nothing. As soon as they made it to the floor, Stiles turned his back on the man, his arm going behind his head to cup the stranger’s neck as he ground back against the taller man. As predicted, the man had quite the package, that much Stiles could feel even through the man’s jeans. They danced slowly, their bodies undulating to the house mix. Turning so they were face to face, Stiles grabbed the man’s hips and ground against him, licking a stripe up his neck. 

“Twenty for a blow job,” he said lowly. 

And then the dancing stopped. Idris look-alike pulled away, his eyes going wide. “Nah, man. I don’t want that. I don’t wanna pay you...what are you? Some kind of prostitute?” 

He didn’t give Stiles a chance to answer before backing away. And Stiles was left back at square one. There was always the twenty percent. Stiles’s eyes slowly moved from one side of the room to the other, scanning the crowd. Nothing, nothing, nothing, no—his gaze snapped back, taking in the beautiful sight of quite possibly the hottest guy he had ever seen in his life. He was tall, build, with dark hair and just the slightest bit of scruff. Wearing nothing but a grey tank and jeans, the man danced sensually with a group, his eyes closed as though he were actually receiving some kind of stimulation right there on the dance floor. It wouldn’t be unheard of, but Stiles couldn’t see anyone doing anything. There was a space of at least three inches all around him. Enough space for Stiles to make a move. 

It was impossible to simply walk across the dance floor, so Stiles settled for dancing across it, his body moving with others’ as he made his way to the ridiculously handsome man. Approaching, he slid in between the man and his friend, leaning in close, just as he had done the previous time. 

“Hey there,” he said, pitching his voice low. “What’s your name?” Different guy, different tactic. 

“Derek,” came the terse reply. 

“Well then, Derek. You here with anyone?” 

Derek jerked his head toward the group of people who had all started dancing among themselves. “My friend just turned twenty one. I was brought along.” 

“Oh? Not enjoying yourself?" Stiles ground lightly against Derek. “Is there anything I can do to change that?”

Derek’s eyes widened, his eyebrows raising as he looked down at the shorter man. “Are you even twenty-one?” he asked. 

Not quite the reaction that Stiles had been looking for. He rolled his eyes and let out a huff. “Yes.” At least, that was what it said on his fake ID. “Does that change things?” he asked, his voice pitched low yet again.

“It depends. What are you offering?”

Stiles had been in this situation countless times before. Twenty for a blow, just to break even, ten for a hand job, a hundred for a night. He couldn’t be pushy about his rates. After all, he was competing with professionals. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth to speak. However, Derek stopped him by capturing his lips in a kiss. 

The man had a wicked mouth. Soft and sensual, and everything that Stiles wanted. He was more than relieved that he had been able to shower and brush his teeth at the shelter he had stayed at the night before. Beds were scarce, though, and he had given his up for a boy younger than he was, which was heartbreaking, as Stiles was only eighteen. Relishing the kiss, Stiles returned it with just as much enthusiasm. Perhaps this would be better than he had thought. 

“Depends on what _you’re_ offering,” Stiles shot back, nibbling on Derek’s ear. His entire pitch was completely forgotten. After all, the man had asked him a question and _then_ kissed him before he could even answer. Stiles could tell he wasn’t like the normal client. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Derek said, looking back to his friends. They didn’t seem to notice that he was flirting with a whore. But then again, perhaps Derek didn’t realize he was flirting with a whore. 

“And where exactly would we be going?” Stiles asked. 

“Back to my place,” Derek answered, as though that should be obvious. “I want to take you somewhere private.”

Private residence. Those were normally two hundred for the night, simply for the security. And normally, Stiles always let someone know where he was going, regardless of private residence or hotel. Tonight, though, he was just going to have to risk it. Two hundred wasn’t exactly something he could pass up. That would get him a night or two in one of the sleazy motels in the worst part of town, but at least he could have himself a shower and get some rest in a proper bed. It seemed that Derek could see his hesitation as well, because he leaned in close. 

“I promise I’m not a serial killer,” he said with a small smile. 

Teasing was always a good sign, and Stiles’s resolve was melting by the minute. “Okay,” he said. His voice was hesitant, if not quiet. After all, he was competing with the music. 

Derek took his hand, leading them over to his friends. After saying something in his friend’s ear, he led them to the door and out into the night. It was colder than Stiles remembered it being when he had entered, and he looked around for his hoodie, remembering he had left it on one of the chairs. 

“We have to go back,” he shouted, his ears still thrumming from the music.

“Why?” Derek asked, frowning.

“I forgot my hoodie.” 

Looking around, Derek nodded. “Stay here. I’ll go get it. What does it look like?” 

Stiles described it, and Derek nodded yet again. As he walked away, Stiles let out a sigh. There was the second one gone. He doubted that he would ever see the man again. However, true to his word, Derek returned ten minutes later, glaring, but bearing the hoodie. 

“Do you know how hard it is to find a freaking grey hoodie in a dark room?” he asked. 

“No,” Stiles said, looking at the ground. “Sorry.”

Derek’s face seemed to soften. “It’s okay. Come on. Let’s go back to my place.” 

Stiles knew that he should have told Derek then. He should have admitted what he was, what he wanted, and let Derek reject him right then and there. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was something about him. And maybe, if they got finished, and Stiles told him, Derek would still be willing to pay. As Derek hailed one of the yellow cabs, Stiles allowed the older man to usher him in.

“So you know my name, but I have no idea what yours is,” Derek said. 

“I’m Stiles,” he answered. Normally, no one cared what his name was. 

“Well, Stiles, what were you doing at the club by yourself? I couldn’t help but see you try to hit up someone before me.” 

Stiles felt his face get hot. “You saw that?” he asked, more than slightly mortified. 

“I like to watch what goes on around me,” Derek answered with a shrug. “It wasn’t that hard to miss. He looked pretty upset. What did you do to him?”

“I...invited him to the bathroom,” Stiles answered. It wasn’t a lie. 

Rather than recoiling out of disgust, Derek simply smirked. “Not the best way to pick up a guy.” 

“You were the one who invited me back to your place,” Stiles retorted.

“Yeah. Back to my place. Somewhere alone and private and comfortable.” 

There was no way to tell Derek that he didn’t exactly have a place to bring someone back to. “Maybe I didn’t want alone or comfortable.”

“Then why did you say yes to me?”

Stiles didn’t have an answer to that, so instead, he closed his mouth, refusing to say another word until the cab stopped. The building wasn’t exactly new, but it looked like one of the trendy little apartment buildings where younger people lived. Ones who were fresh out of college and looking for a place to start their lives. How Stiles envied them. Derek led the way up the steps, all six flights of them, to the loft. Of course he would live in a loft. As he pushed the door open, Stiles took it in. It was modern, with concrete floors and exposed brick and ductwork. The open concept was something Stiles appreciated. He liked being able to see everything that was going on. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Derek asked, heading into the kitchen.

“I think we can skip that part and get right to this,” Stiles said with a smirk. As Derek frowned, Stiles could tell that was the wrong answer. “Or a beer would be fine.” 

It made sense that Derek would want to give Stiles a drink. After all, most one-night-stands were often offered a drink. It would make the illusion seem so much more real. To Derek, though, it wasn’t an illusion. He actually thought Stiles was just some guy from the club he was taking home. 

“You don’t actually believe I think you’re twenty one, do you?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look too young. Too fresh.” 

“I’m twenty one,” Stiles protested.

“Prove it.”

Digging into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out his fake, handing it over. Derek’s eyebrows knitted together as he inspected the card. “It’s good, I’ll give you that,” he said. “But not quite. I think I know the guy you used. My sister tried that once.”

So Derek had a sister. Well, that was nice. It didn’t help Stiles, but it was nice. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’m eighteen.” 

“Now _that_ I can believe,” Derek said, looking a bit more satisfied. “Now then, what would you like to drink?”

“Coke,” Stiles said bitterly. “If you’re going to make me drink anything.” 

Derek’s eyebrows rose, and Stiles thought that he had never seen anyone with eyebrows that moved as much as Derek’s did. They were like two squirmy caterpillars above his eyes. 

_Good one, Stilinski. Waxing poetic over his fucking eyebrows._

“Eager, are we?” Derek asked, a small smirk forming on his mouth. 

“You have no idea,” Stiles answered. 

Walking over to where Stiles was leaned up against the wall, Derek placed his hands on either side of the younger man, crowding his space. Stiles didn’t try to move away. He didn’t move at all. He didn’t even breathe. Without so much as a word, Derek closed the space between them, their lips brushing together. And then they were backing up, Derek’s hands clutching Stiles’s hips so hard he knew there would be bruises, but that was okay, because it felt amazing. Most of the time when Stiles did this, there was no intimacy. It lacked any kind of tenderness, any kind of affection, including kissing. 

Derek’s fingers carded through Stiles’s hair, and Stiles couldn’t help but shiver. Most hands twisted and pulled, or forced Stiles down to his knees. But not Derek. Derek’s hands were soft; controlling, but they still gave room for discussion. He didn’t force Stiles to do anything. Instead, he slowly led them, taking steps backward to the bedroom. It wasn’t so much of a room as it was just a nook, separated from the living room by large, open bookshelves. There was something incredibly liberating about the room. No walls, no doors, just space. 

They kept walking until Derek’s knees hit the bed, and he sat down on it, pulling Stiles with him, so Stiles was sitting in his lap, his legs dangling on either side of Derek. His feet barely reached the floor. They had only broken the kiss to breathe, and even then, only seconds at a time. Stiles pushed on Derek’s shoulders, wanting him to lie back. He could make this good for Derek, that much, he knew. As Derek complied, Stiles slowly pulled his own shirt off, revealing inch after inch of pale skin. 

“Beautiful,” Derek murmured. Somehow, the word didn’t feel like it did when most guys said it. 

Stiles didn’t respond to the word, other than to grind slowly down on Derek. He was rewarded with a low moan, and that was the sweetest sound Stiles had heard in a long time, so innocent and absolutely carnal. Siding off Derek’s legs, he stood, allowing Derek to better position himself on the bed. That was good. Stiles didn’t want them to be uncomfortable, and the positioning would have been awkward, half-on half-off the bed. His eyes locked with Derek’s, and slowly, incredibly slowly, Stiles pushed down his jeans, revealing a pair of grey briefs. They didn’t show dirt as easily. However, when Stiles went to push those down, too, Derek shook his head. 

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Let me.”

If that was how Derek wanted it, then that was how he would get it. “At least let me take your clothes off,” Stiles said with a small grin.

“You drive a hard bargain, Stiles. But I suppose I’ll have to agree,” Derek said, faking disappointment. 

Stiles climbed back on the bed and ran his hands up under Derek’s shirt. He came to the conclusion that Derek should simply never wear shirts. Ever. The man’s muscled torso quivered under Stiles’s fingers, as he pulled the shirt over them, and off Derek’s frame. It landed on the floor, and Stiles started in on the jeans. He unbuttoned them, then took the zipper in his teeth, slowly dragging it down. Derek’s breath came out ragged, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit proud that he had been the one to reduce the strong, serious man to this. 

“What do you want to do to me?” Stiles asked, looking up as he pushed Derek’s jeans and boxers down slowly. 

“I want to touch you. And then suck you. But I don’t want to bring you off,” Derek said, his voice rough. “I want to turn you over, make you nice and comfortable, and fuck you into the mattress. It won’t be fast, though. I want to take it nice and slow. Make you enjoy it.” 

So _that_ was how Derek played. He wanted the nice and slow, ‘making love’ kind of fucking. And he wanted to be on top. Stiles was okay with that. He was certainly used to bottoming, though not for a blow. Seemed like he would be getting it anyway. And that was perfectly fine. Climbing back up to Derek’s side, Stiles lay on his back, his arms spread slightly in an invitation. 

“Come on, then. I’m all yours.” 

Derek rolled over, crouching above him. It was beautiful to see those muscles at work, holding Derek’s body up. He leaned in for another kiss, his large hand moving to Stiles’s lower half. Stiles waited for the hand to caress his cock, but Derek simply rubbed the inside of his thigh gently. The tease. 

“Please, Derek,” he begged. There was nothing he wouldn’t do. Begging just seemed to produce the best results.

However, instead of agreeing, Derek shook his head. “Slowly,” he murmured, nuzzling against Stiles’s neck. “You’ve never done slowly, have you?”

Stiles had to think about that. With all the men he’d had, with all the places and the acts, he couldn’t remember a single time someone wanted to just lay him out and give him pleasure. He was a whore. And no one wanted to make love to a whore. He shook his head, and Derek pulled him into his arms. Stiles didn’t understand. He had given nothing away to suggest that he was anything but another person in the club. He hadn’t told Derek what he was. And yet, here Derek was, treating him as though he was...what? A whore? Inexperienced? Those were really the only two options. 

“I was hurt like you, too,” Derek said, his voice almost so soft that Stiles couldn’t hear him.

Hurt? What—no. Stiles had never been hurt. And besides, how could a huge, strapping guy like Derek be hurt, anyway? It didn’t make sense. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied. All the times in the alleys, when men had pulled a bit too hard on his hair, forced themselves too far down his throat. And then at the beginning, when they had done far worse. Stiles remembered those times all too well. 

Rather than pressing the issue, Derek just nodded. “Okay,” he murmured, kissing the hollow of Stiles’s throat. His hand smoothed up and down Stiles’s front, tracing the flat planes of his stomach, his ribs where they barely stuck out. However, through all of this, he didn’t say anything. 

Tired of doing _nothing_ , Stiles pulled Derek back in for a kiss, his tongue tracing Derek’s bottom lip. It seemed Derek could sense his desire to continue things along, as he cupped Stiles through his underwear as they kissed, gently squeezing and stroking up and down his length. Stiles let out a small moan that was muffled by the kiss, arching up against the hand. Finally, when Derek pulled away, he eased Stiles’s underwear down, freeing his hard cock. Unlike Derek, Stiles was cut, and he was slightly smaller than the other man. He didn’t take it personally, though. It was just the way he was made. 

“God, look at you,” Derek said lowly, his eyes trailing up and down Stiles’s body. 

Stiles could feel the heat rise to his skin, tinging it pink. Derek slid down to the end of the bed, his eyes locking on Stiles’s as he took the younger man’s cock in his hand, and then wrapped his lips around the head. The wet heat enveloped Stiles’s cock, leaving him gasping for breath. It was clear that Derek was no novice at this, not from the way he moved, bobbing his head, stroking in long, firm strokes. Everything about it was amazing. Derek’s free hand didn’t remain idle. He rubbed Stiles’s thighs, his stomach, his chest, tweaking his nipples occasionally. It was absolute heaven. 

And then, the heat was gone, leaving Stiles gasping at the shock. His cock bobbed back against his abdomen, flushed and gleaming with Derek’s saliva. 

“That’s not fair,” he breathed. 

“I said I didn’t want you to come. I want to fuck you,” Derek replied, his voice husky. 

Stiles let out a groan. That voice.That fucking voice. He could come alone just from listening to it. As Derek moved back up beside Stiles, he opened his nightstand drawer, pulling out a small square of foil and a black bottle that Stiles knew could only be lube. Licking his lips, he stared as Derek moved. 

“How do you want me?” he asked. 

“On your stomach, if you don’t mind.” 

Stiles didn’t. It was the way most of his encounters occurred, if his customers got the full package. Rolling onto his stomach, he wiggled his ass to show it off. It was one of the things he was most proud of. Stiles knew he looked good. He wasn’t as muscular as Derek, but he wasn’t lanky, either. Perhaps he was slightly underweight, but at least his ass looked fantastic. People tended to forget everything else if one part was good. Derek rubbed his hand over Stiles’s ass, squeezing gently. 

“It needs color,” he said, a smile in his voice.

Stiles didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t think he wanted to. He certainly didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re not spanking me,” he said. 

“I don’t want to. There are other ways of bringing color to it.” Sliding back down Stiles’s body, he ran his tongue over the skin, nipping and sucking. 

Oh. Oh. That was really, really good. Stiles let out a small huff of breath, pushing up against the mouth. All too soon, it was gone again, just as it had been before. 

“I have so much I want to do to you,” Derek purred. 

“Then do it,” Stiles challenged. 

He half-expected some kind of retribution. Some kind of anger, of punishment. But instead, Derek only gave him a small smirk, taking the black bottle and flicking the cap open. He poured a liberal amount in his hand, coating his fingers with it, the spaces in between them, all the way to his wrist. Stiles swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to do anything freaky, right?

“Relax,” Derek said softly. “I’m a bit bigger than most. I’m just trying to make sure you’re prepared.” 

Stiles looked down at Derek’s cock, mentally shrugging. He had a point. Spreading his legs, he reached back, holding his ass cheeks apart. The cold air across the tight pucker of muscle made him clench automatically, but then Derek’s hands were there, smoothing, soothing as they took over for Stiles. With one hand, Derek held him open. He brushed his first finger of the other hand across Stiles’s entrance, though he didn’t push in. Stiles could feel the muscle fluttering, spasming, and he bore down expectantly. 

Excruciatingly slowly, Derek pushed in his first finger, though only to just past the nail. He rolled his wrist, swirling his finger in the process, to try and work Stiles open. It had been a few weeks since Stiles had done this, so he wasn’t as open as he would have liked to have been, but it wasn’t like he was virginal, either. 

“You can go faster,” he encouraged. 

“I don’t want to,” Derek replied. 

He took his time, working Stiles open. It took five minutes before he pushed his first finger all the way in, and Stiles was reduced to a panting mess, slightly annoyed at how slowly Derek was moving. However, his frustration was short-lived, as Derek wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked firmly. _Finally_ , he was getting something. The second finger took nearly as long, and Derek used both fingers to stretch Stiles thoroughly, working the muscle, helping it loosen and give. He spread his fingers, getting Stiles accustomed to the feeling. And it was something he needed to get accustomed to. Not necessarily because he hadn’t done this before, but because he had never done it like _this_ before. Never so slowly, so intimately. 

Intimate was a good word to describe it. The entire time Derek had been stretching him, he had been kissing Stiles as well, or murmuring soft words of praise, or sucking on his skin, tasting him. This was something Stiles had never encountered, in all his years of whoring. He had never once been taken to bed as a lover. 

Once Derek had sufficiently stretched him with three fingers, he removed them and grabbed the foil wrapper, tearing it open. When Stiles made to help him put the condom on, Derek shook his head. 

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “This isn’t about me.” 

So Stiles let him put on the condom himself. He let Derek coat his cock with lube, and he let Derek take control, as the older man gripped his hip and slid home. Like with his fingers, he moved slowly. So slowly Stiles thought he was going to scream. Instead, he let out a low, frustrated groan. 

“Trust me,” Derek said softly, running his hand up the inside of Stiles’s thigh. “It’s better this way.” 

Stiles didn’t know how much of that he believed, but he needed this. Even though his cock had barely been touched, it was still hard, lying against his abdomen. Derek rolled his hips in shallow thrusts, each one driving him further and further inside Stiles. The build of pressure and tension was almost unbearable. Finally, with one push, Derek bottomed out, and Stiles could feel Derek’s balls hit his ass. 

He was grateful, now, for the preparation. Derek hadn’t been joking when he had said he was bigger than most, and while Stiles had seen Derek’s cock, there was quite a difference between seeing it and feeling it inside of him. He let out a slow breath, looking up at Derek. 

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked, his voice tinged with worry. 

“No,” Stiles said. It wasn’t a lie. There was some discomfort, but it wasn’t major. More than anything, he just wanted to be touched. Or he wanted Derek to find that amazing spot inside of him that made him see stars. 

It was as though Derek could read his mind. He pulled out, though not all the way, angling himself as he thrust back in. At the same time, he wrapped his hand around Stiles and stroked. This time, he didn’t let up. He set an easy rhythm, not too brutal, but not slow enough that Stiles was left frustrated and needing more. And then it happened. Derek’s cock brushed against his prostate, and Stiles let out a moan. 

“That’s it,” Derek murmured. “I want to hear you. Every sound. I want to hear it.” 

There was no acting in this performance. It was pure, raw emotion and feeling. There was something in the way that Derek treated him, as though he needed to be taken care of, that made Stiles feel safer and better than he had felt in over a year, since he had left home. Derek held him as a lover, made him feel good, and put his needs above Derek’s own. That was something that Stiles had only dreamed of, and now, here he was, having it done to him. 

Derek angled himself so that with every roll of his hips, he hit Stiles’s prostate. He knew what he was doing. How could he not? The noises Stiles was making, the moans, the whimpers, the curses, Derek’s name on his lips, all of them pointed to the pleasure that Stiles felt. Derek dragged his teeth down Stiles’s neck, his tongue soothing the sting. His hands moved up and down Stiles’s body, tweaking his nipples, cupping the backs of his thighs, caressing his cheek. However, one hand remained on Stiles’s cock at all times, drawing out the pleasure. 

Now that the foreplay was over, now that they were doing this with intent, Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to last very long. He rarely did, when he was getting fucked. He supposed that was why he enjoyed it more than anything else. He actually got to experience the pleasure as well, not just give it. 

“You don’t have to hold back,” Derek said. “You can let go.”

Stiles shook his head. He didn’t want to come yet. It was too soon. After this, he would have to go on his way and leave the warmth and comfort of Derek’s loft. And his body. 

“This won’t be the last time this happens. You can come for me, Stiles.”

The words released something within Stiles, and he came hard, spurts landing on the bed as Stiles’s vision went white around the edges. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear anything other than the rush in his ears, and he couldn’t even think. Barely holding himself up, he registered that Derek hadn’t stopped moving. If anything, he had sped up. However, he didn’t touch Stiles’s prostate, something Stiles was more than grateful for. At least he was being considerate, not trying to overstimulate the man beneath him. 

Less than a minute later, Derek’s entire body tensed, and Stiles heard him swear softly. Derek buried his face in Stiles’s neck, inhaling deeply as his hips slowed, drawing out the last of his orgasm. Stiles was shocked at just how much Derek came. He could feel the condom expand inside of him. It was remarkable, really. Slowly, Derek eased himself out of Stiles and pulled off the condom. Tying it off, he threw it in the trash can beside the bed and then collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily. 

“C’mere,” he murmured, pulling Stiles against his chest. Derek scooted them until they were no longer lying in the small puddle Stiles had made. 

Being held was like heaven. Derek’s body was a strange combination of hard and soft, his muscles firm, but his body so relaxed that he made the best pillow. Stiles didn’t think he had been this comfortable in a long time. And the worst part was, he knew he couldn’t stay. Not even for the night. Even if Derek thought he was just another guy, Stiles couldn’t keep up the illusion. The soft bed, the warm shower, the food, none of it was worth it. Because eventually, he would leave. He would go back to his place under the bridge, and he would stay there, coming out to lure other men underneath. But one day, Derek would find him again. It wouldn’t matter if he was in the grocery store, or in the soup kitchen line, or in another club, Derek would find him, and he would know. And Stiles didn’t want Derek to know him as a whore. 

Slowly, he tried to ease away. Derek’s hold only tightened. 

“I need to get up,” Stiles said. 

“Why?”

“I...have to go to the bathroom.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but hopefully, Derek would let him go. 

He did, and Stiles climbed out of the bed. Stiles did actually go to the bathroom, closing the door and relieving himself. However, when he came back, he didn’t get back in bed. Instead, he picked up his dirty grey underwear and pulled them back on. 

“Where are you going?” Derek asked. He sat up on his elbows and frowned, watching as Stiles pulled on his jeans. 

‘I’m leaving.” He swallowed hard, not looking at Derek. 

“What do you mean, you’re leaving? It’s after midnight.” 

“I know. But I want to go home.” It was a lie, of course. Stiles didn’t have a home to go to. But he didn’t want to stay here any longer. 

“Let me drive you,” Derek said. “That way you won’t have to pay for a cab. I don’t want you to have to go out there alone.” 

Stiles shook his head. “No. It’s fine.”

Derek climbed out of the bed, walking over to Stiles. He took him by the shoulders, searching his face. “What’s wrong, Stiles? Was it something I did? Something I said?”

Stiles couldn’t help the weak laugh that left him. Yes. It was. It had been too good, and Stiles didn’t want to sully Derek’s image of him by revealing he was something less than upstanding. 

“No,” Stiles answered. “Derek, please, just let me go.” 

“Give me one good reason. Tell me why you don’t want to stay.” 

Stiles looked at the floor, unable to look at Derek as he spoke. 

“I’m a whore,” he said quietly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean I don’t have a home, okay? There’s no home you can take me to, because I don’t have one. I don’t have money. I don’t have a place to sleep, or food. What I have is a nice ass and a pretty mouth, and apparently that pays pretty well,” Stiles said. The words tasted like acid as they left his lips. 

Derek looked as though he had been slapped: shocked, hurt, but strangely enough, not appalled. Stiles had been sure that he would have demanded Stiles get out of his loft. That he leave immediately and never come back. But instead, he looked like he had been hit. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, his words breathless. 

Cupping Stiles’s cheek, Derek shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said quietly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I wanted you to come home with me. I should have asked if you were comfortable with it. I should have made sure you wanted this.” 

“I _did_ want it. But that really isn’t saying a whole lot about me.” 

“Were you—” Derek broke off, his face turning red. “Were you going to charge me?” 

Stiles licked his lip. “I thought about it,” he said softly. “Two hundred dollars is a lot of money. I could have stayed a couple of nights in a motel, gotten a shower….”

“Stiles…”  
“Don’t you get it? Don’t you get what I am? Why aren’t you disgusted?” Stiles demanded. 

“Why would I be?” 

“I’m a slut. A whore. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve to be in your house, in your bed.” Stiles’s voice broke on the last word.

Derek looked physically pained as Stiles spoke. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” 

There was a defeated note to Stiles’s voice as he asked, “Then what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to stay.” 

Stiles chanced a look up at Derek. His eyes were kind, if not pained. But it didn’t look like he was repulsed. Certainly not like the guy in the club had been. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. 

“I’ve been where you are now,” Derek answered softly. He continued as Stiles opened his mouth to speak. “Not in your position exactly. I never had to trade my body for a warm place to sleep, or my next meal. But I’ve been desperate like that before. And I needed someone to save me, too.” 

Swallowing hard, Stiles felt his eyes fill with tears. He didn’t want to cry. Not over something like this. And yet, as the first drop hit his cheek, Stiles felt somehow lighter. Maybe there was someone who really did want to care for him, someone who wanted to take care of him. Derek’s arms wrapped around Stiles’s shoulders, and for once, Stiles allowed himself to be held. He allowed himself to relax in the arms of a complete stranger, but one whom, he hoped, wouldn’t be a stranger for very long. 

Derek held him for a few seconds, not moving, just letting his breath blow against Stiles’s hair. Eventually, when Stiles calmed himself enough to just rest against Derek’s chest, Derek dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Come back to bed, Stiles,” he murmured. 

And for the first time in a long time, Stiles did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Leave comments if you liked it. Also, check me out on Tumblr, if you want to say hi. My url is thatonewritergirl.tumblr.com


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